Cursing under his breath, the brunette kicked angrily at his sputtering vespa, its cheap makeover with maroon spray-paint chipped off little by little, and the muffler that usually dragged behind him was making an inexplicable squealing noise as he sped off to his usual drop off spots. It distracted him a lot more than it should, and was the biggest cause of getting into all sorts of accidents. What’s more, was that the delivery boy was abusing his means of transportation more and more often these days. No one could blame him, though. Blown gaskets, overheating, busted gas gauge; rust ate alongside the body and inner workings of the small moped--more than likely because the young thug would carelessly fling the scooter onto the side of the road in the rain to rot. The high schooler adjusted the lollipop that hung from his lips as he impatiently revved his scooter.

When praying for his vespa’s safe return back to his home from work wasn’t the bane of his existence, he found entertainment in a lot of things--things that he probably shouldn’t be doing at the tender age of seventeen. It was well known around the area of Gyeonggi-do that Lee Joon wasn’t a mother’s friend’s son. If anything, he was quite the opposite; a self-proclaimed gang member who loved mischief and havoc even more than most of his delinquent sunbaes. Unfortunately, being the maknae of any sort of group always meant being last in line for anything rewarding, and first in manual labor.

Not too long ago, Joon’s boss thought up a..”supposedly” perfect job for him a few months back, and found it to be quite a profitable trend slithering around in Korean crime. It was very easy; opiate distribution, but with the innocent and clever cover of being a corner store supplier. The objective was simple; distribute opiate to those who will buy it, and sell store items to those who buy it.

The male sighed to himself then shook his head, as he pulled from a negligible curb yet again and reluctantly continued his rounds around the area. Coming to an abrupt stop on a familiar eroding sidewalk, he slung open his moped’s pack; fishing out the customer’s usual order of twenty cartons of cigarettes and wordlessly made his way inside. With a sharp thud, the slim boxes landed on the counter, his eyes not even meeting the owner as he sauntered lazily toward the back as he always did. The brunette grabbed mechanically at some drinks in the freezer hoping to combat the heat outside and quench his thirst, then snatching more ers than that.

Turning on his heel and gradually making his way to the register, Joon’s chocolate slits crawled up to the owner’s face, expecting to see the same old Ajusshi he always saw standing there, balding around the crown of his head and scratching himself in various inappropriate places, though this time it couldn’t be farther than that.The disobedient youth halted himself in the chip aisle, his arms dangling at his sides with his snacks nearly slipping through his fingertips. He froze there, stunned at who was standing there on the opposite side of the counter.Joon squinted exaggeratedly to get a better look; a young guy who appeared around the same age as him sat there flipping through a catalogue and making strange gestures to himself. Despite that, the delinquent recognized that this new owner was good-looking and by the looks of it, quite stupid. Joon lifted an incredulous brow, and couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself. Without a word, the brunette dug frivolously in his pants’ pocket before revealing a small marker and stealthily scribbling something onto the Banana Milk bottle.

As he approached the counter, for whatever reason, the thug felt the need to readjust his blazer and pants. Throwing his items onto the glass table, Joon moved a few mahogany tresses from his eyes and coughed lightly before pushing the items closer to the other’s side of the table. He swished his disappearing er to the other side of his mouth.

The copper headed boy sat behind the counter of his newly purchased corner store, a catalogue in hand, and he flipped through, page by page, not even sure what he was looking at. It wasn’t like he had any experience in this field anyway - buying the storefront had been a complete accident. The money he had saved up to live in the city had been bulging in his pocket, and his apartment was a short walk down the street. He had only been there to ask if there was a job opening. He knew he had no connections with any of the people around here, but he knew he had a friendly face, and he was hoping that would be enough.

Somehow by the end of the conversation with the previous owner his pocket was emptied, and he had a set of keys in his hand. That had been a week prior, and ever since Mir had been in a panic. He had no idea how he was going to get more supplies, nor how he was supposed to keep track of the money flow. He had taken to shoving all of the money into the safe at night without bothering to count it out, because the sheer amount of bills and coins made him nauseous. Math had never been his best subject, and now he was kicking himself for dropping out after middle school.

He stared at the catalogue in his grasp, looking at the various items available for order. Milk? Candy? What was that...condoms?! No, he didn’t sell those. Right? He raised his eyes, looking around the store until his eyes landed on a shelf in the back. Yup. He sold condoms. And pregnancy tests, it would seem. He supposed he should probably take a minute to actually look at the things he sold, but that was a whole other headache he didn’t want to deal with. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropping the magazine and smacking himself on the head several times. He would think of something, right?

He could always hire someone. That could work, right? Hire someone to take care of everything, the finances, the stock, even run the counter for him! That was the perfect plan! His hands shifted from self-harming to smoothing out his hair and trying to look presentable. He picked up the catalogue again, setting it on the counter and thinking about where to put the help-wanted sign when he realized how bad of an idea it really was. He was sixteen years old. People would take advantage of him, take his money, steal his products. No. That was the worst idea he had ever had, and he had a lot of bad ideas.

He sighed, leaning over the catalogue again. He almost didn’t notice when the door opened and a punky-looking brunette came in, dropping a stack of cigarette cartons on the counter. His jaw hung open and he watched the other male moving through his store with an obvious ease. He’d clearly been shopping there for quite some time, and Mir sighed, looking back at the catalogue in front of him. He still had no idea what he was going to do, and he began clenching and unclenching his fists on the countertop. He wanted to pull his hair out, but he didn’t want to scare away a customer. He shook his head, resolving to at least count out the money in the safe that night.

A moment later the boy showed up in front of him, dropping the various snacks and drinks he had collected on the counter. Mir’s mouth hung slightly open as he scanned the various items. One thing he was happy about was the automated system the old man had installed apparently just weeks before Mir had come to town. He kept glancing up at the boy across from him, not failing to notice how handsome the other was. He looked at the register, then glanced back.

“4,000.00 won, please.” He said cheerfully, his smile the picture of childish happiness as he waited for the stranger to pay.

Fixing the silver skull ring on his index finger, the youth nodded in acknowledgment and tossed the small sum of change onto the table one by one, then pushing it closer to the other for his convenience. Firstly picking up his pops, the delinquent shoved all but one into his pocket, slowly unraveling the bright red cellophane and spitting out the old, damp and worn stick into his hand and tossing it free-throw style into the waste bin directly behind the new owner. “Assa!” Joon yelped, then jumped up lightly, doing a small dance of victory which consisted of wagging his bottom end as he heard the small swish into the trash can.  

Realizing he was still standing in front of this new shop-keep, the brunette regained his composure, realigning his headband and going so far as flipping back some mahogany tresses from his amber slits, a slight wave of embarrassment washed over his face as his eyes averted to the glass door to his left.

Mir watched in fascination as the punk in front of him made the shot. He would never have the hand-eye coordination to do anything like that, and he knew the trashcan was hard to see from the other side of the counter. He had spent an entire day looking for it when he first came into possession of the shop, though he would never admit that out loud. He squinted his eyes when the other began dancing around in front of him, not entirely sure what he was witnessing.

It took a moment for the other to notice what he was doing, and when he stilled he looked a bit uncomfortable. Mir watched as he started to walk away, leaving behind the cigarettes and milk, and he started to panic. What was he supposed to do with them? After a moment of internal debate, he finally called out to the other. “Yah! You forgot something!” His mouth hung open slightly, his teeth nearly touching and his eyes wide as the other turned back.

Pivoting on his heel, the young thug trotted toward the swinging door but not before snatching his juice from the counter. It was a few more strides before he reached the threshold, and coincidentally it was transparent; and as usual, his own reflection prompted him to stop and stare for no less than 30 seconds. The small brass bell that dangled over the entrance offered a tinny ring as he slung open the door. Without looking back, he gave the young owner a small ‘V’ before jerking his beaten vespa towards him and starting the moped back up.

Swinging a leg over his busted scooter, he sped off. Unconsciously,  the delinquent offered a few quick glances as the distance grew between him and that place.That kid was more than a little strange; he didn’t stare at him when he walked in, or follow him around while he was shopping. For a moment it brought him back to that sick Ajusshi from before, and he pondered awhile longer why he didn’t bother telling him that he was going to sell his place.

Joon scoffed a little as shot across a vast bridge, wondering why he even cared that the old man didn’t tell him. So what they talked a few times here and there? He wasn’t his grandson. With a shake of his head, the brunette soon returned to reality and took a sharp turn. Then turning into the withered garage he knew all too well, he secretly wished he was somewhere else.

Mir blinked dumbly as the kid walked out. Was he leaving this stuff on purpose? Maybe this was one of the delivery systems the old man had mentioned. He had been pretty thorough in explaining to Mir, but the boy in question often had his intelligence compared to that of a goldfish, and with good reason. He barely remembered anything the old man told him, and so after ten minutes he was still staring at the products on his counter. He didn’t want to take the cigarettes and get in trouble, but he was running low. He shook his head in frustration, then decided to at least put the milk back in the fridge.

He lifted the small container in his hand, heading toward the refrigerated section of the store without a second thought. He pulled open the door and began to push the milk bottles that had slid forward back to make room for the one in his hand. He was lifting the strangers milk to set it in place when he finally realized something was off about the label. His eyes traveled over the quickly written numbers, and then the name that accompanied them. He let the other milk bottles slide forward again, then turned and went back to the counter.

He took a seat, then pressed his palm to his temple. He was beginning to get a headache. The boy had intentionally bought something he didn’t intend to take? And why had he written his name and phone number on it? And what the hell was he supposed to do with those cigarettes? He groaned, shaking the milk container absently, then opening it up and popping a straw through. He drank it within a few seconds - he was always thirsty - then looked at the phone number again. Maybe he had written it down so Mir could call him and...what? Find out what to do with the cigarettes? He was the one who brought them in, so it made sense that he would know what to do with them.

He nodded happily to himself, pulling out his cell phone and punching the numbers in, then saving the contact and slipping his phone into his pocket. He didn’t bother to dwell on the fact that the only other contacts he had saved in his phone was his favorite delivery place, and the store’s phone number. He grabbed the cigarette cartons and tucked them under the counter, not wanting to look at them anymore.